Johnny Cashback's ATM ™: January 2012

Tuesday, 31 January 2012

THE HAPPY ACCIDENT

Once upon a time there was a baby who appeared from nowhere

Mr and Mrs Porkett were amazed

They gazed in wonder at the boy for a whole day and night

He was like a piglet with bigger feet and no tail

The baby boy gurgled and gurned and was fallen in love with

Yet

As the sun started to warm the earth

And rouse the chickens

Worries arrived within poverty

The farmers gnashed their teeth and wrang their hands for hours

It would be good about now to see and heed a sign

A sign that all would be well…

They decided to ask the village elder if they had been blessed

After his breakfast of worms the elder came

He entered the hut and squinted at the wrinkly pink child

The boy wriggled and squealed and played with his feet

The elder gave a sigh but smiled and placed his palm against the boy’s sole

The foot and hand were exactly the same size

Ah!

And then tickled the infant’s little pot-belly

The elder looked at the parents with his watery eyes

He shall cause upset wherever he goes

There was much nodding

A payment was made of a fistful of eggs
And the elder softly left

The poor parents hugged each other and sobbed with woe

So did not hear as the elder popped back in to say

In his forgetful way

He shall be a cheery child, as happy as a mucky hog

True to foretelling

The boy crashed blissfully through his young life

As soon as he could walk there followed a trail of brokenness

Doors, carts, barns and bones

As soon as he could talk he could apologise

And always with a smile so genuine that he was quickly forgiven

He would burst like sunshine through the most humdrum days

He had his head rubbed or patted umpteen times a week

And was always being given a turnip to take home to his parents

But time forms shadows

And age makes weary

The villagers started to tut and cluck

They watched the boy’s poor father work hard to fix all the broken things

They knew of hardship and would help out

Releasing the father from his duty

So it was that as the boy grew the father fell in to debt

The villagers became dismayed at this mess in their midst

It was time for a gathering

There and then it was decided to place the boy into the apprenticeship of the Smith
This brought gasps and sobs of horror

And woe

From the boy’s mother

Who imagined all sorts of catastrophes involving fire and molten metal

The Smith would have sobbed too but he thought it unbecoming

Yet mother was calmed as

The village elder explained the ruling

The Smith lives on the outskirts of the village

So the boy cannot cause too much mayhem

The Smith can forge strong chains to keep the boy in check until he learns

The boy needs something to occupy

That wandering mind and those waddling feet of his

All at the assembly murmured and nodded approval

They looked at the boy

Who had been seated serenely throughout the hubbub

And they were filled with a warm glow

They thought themselves wise in their solution and slept soundly on it

By the age of fourteen the boy had become the best Smith’s striker in the shire

His hammer blows rang out from morning until twilight

Farmers came from outlying boroughs to purchase the sharpest ploughshares anywhere

His muscular legs had developed in proportion with the once cumbersome feet that propped them up

His arms were full of knotted power that had older milkmaids yearning over their buckets

His handsome face

Once so open and sunny

Was now dark all day with concentration

His brow was thick with soot and sweat

His mouth was permanently twisted with effort

Even in sleep

Which was deeper than he had ever known

For now he had no time to dream

And he never smiled again

Saturday, 28 January 2012

FREEDOM!

BANNOCKBURN

STIRLING

The bit of the River Forth in Stirling where William Wallace won

EDINBURGH CASTLE

England from Hadrian's Wall

HADRIAN'S WALL AT 10 a.m.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

Monday, 23 January 2012

GROANING UNDER THE WEIGHT OF PURCHASE

Me and Dermot were browsing the Laines for nick-nacks, curios and what-not; a quiver full of turkey-feathered, willow strip Algonquin arrows; various useless brass chandlery; art deco nude lampshades and of course any stuffed mammal I could get my hands on. Dermot was of a more ornithological bent and fancied himself creating a fabulous diorama like the cock robin scene lately observed at Jamaica Inn's bizarre museum. We both did quite well and grasped many bargains. By the time it got to four o'clock, even with a short stop for gin and ginger, I was pooped, so I said,
"Call us a taxi, Derm!"
And we both stood there groaning under the weight.

Saturday, 21 January 2012

DAD BAG

I wait in line

At airport security

Behind a hairy woman

Who frets over boot buckles

As two kids hang from her freckled arms

She is practised

Unlike the neophyte behind me

Smiling before his ordeal

Beerily benign

Within all this enforced authority

The youth does not care

He is on his way home from oblivion

And is not prepared

I watch a border guard

As my sundries trundle through

The x ray machine

She’s an old mother

In her fifties and candled onto that seat

A grey seen it all head

And her body has soaked enough venom and produced enough puke

There are not to be any shocks

Nothing but the little incidents to take home and report

No more adventure for her

But intrigued

By the image of my bag

She had to ask

What’s inside? Open it!

It is only my dad

Now in a brown plastic urn

With a tatty bit of paper stuck on

To tell the date of death and such

The details

For that’s all he is

And she knows

She lets me go with good luck

I walk through the white lights

Sick of duty free

Into arrivals

There are families with tears

And strain on their cheeks

Some expect presents

Some yawn

There are guys with suits and signs

They look at us

But we have no one to meet

Only a hole to fill

Friday, 20 January 2012

SINGERS LATE IN JAN.

I opened my window to let the smoke out and there was the song this time it went did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you did you I DON’T KNOW HOW THE BIRDS CAN GET SO HORNY THIS EARLY IN THE YEAR when even their bones are still cold